Nephilim: Genesis Of Evil Part 33

"I don't believe it," Clinton whispered.

The Nephilim at the well writhed and screamed in agony while another left Ed and went toward the water. Some stood nearby like zombies, silent, awaiting an order, while others were retreating behind the cafe and the antique store. Mick gurgled one last horrific time and dropped motionless near the well.

"Mick," Nicholas cried out softly.

A menacing stillness fell over Main Street. Clinton stole a glance across the road. Rory stood motionless, the garrote still in his hand. Myrtle and Anna both stared wide-eyed down the road, mouths open in shock. Nicholas gaped at Clinton, his face contorted in fear.

Ed contemplated Mick. The other Nephilim waited, hands at their sides, swaying slightly. Then Ed slowly turned and looked down the road at the Jeep.

"What's he waiting for?" Clinton whispered.

A horrific cry bent the air. Ed raised his head skyward and a bloodcurdling sound emanated from his opened mouth. The shriek continued, forcing Clinton to cover his ears. It was a scream filled with evil, such a vile sound, like nothing he'd heard before. He fell back behind the car. Nicholas huddled on the ground near the front tire, covering his head. Clinton wanted to reach out to him, but he couldn't compel himself to move to the boy. He felt the sweat break out all over him, and he physically quaked with fear.

Then the cry stopped, and the sudden vacuum of sound was just as unsettling. Nicholas looked up, still cowering by the car's front door. His lips moved but no sound came out.

"Why is he screaming like that?" Clinton whispered to Brewster, who was still crouched over the rear end of the car, watching.

"Mick was a necessary one, fire," Brewster said, his voice filled with a stunned kind of awe. "Ed knows now he can't win." Then his voice became ominous. "And that makes him even more dangerous."

"Why?"

"Because he's p.i.s.sed," Nicholas answered bluntly.

A second, more terrifying howl confirmed this.

"He's lost his chance at enlightenment again," Brewster said.

As the last strangled sounds of Ed's screaming echoed off into the mountains, he turned and stalked away between the buildings.

Brewster leaped to his feet. "Get him!" He ran behind Rory's Jeep, surprisingly quick. He raced by the general store porch, eyes burning.

When Rory heard Ed's terrifying screams, he threw caution aside and ran back around the store to check on Myrtle and Anna. He had just come up on the porch when he saw Brewster running by. Rory let out a string of curses. "You want to get killed?" he yelled out.

"Go after him! He can't take on Ed alone!" Clinton screamed from across the road.

"Stay out of sight," Rory ordered Anna as he leapt off the porch. He barely heard her muted "Be careful!" as he raced after the old man. Brewster had already disappeared between the buildings. Rory followed, glancing quickly over his shoulder as he went. The remaining Nephilim were focused on the ones that had perished at the well.

As he dashed around the corner of the antique store, Rory spotted Brewster, already halfway up the hillside, stooped down next to a large evergreen tree. Up on the crest of the hill Ed appeared, a silhouette against the higher mountains. He stood for a moment before disappearing from view. Rory went cras.h.i.+ng up through the trees, oblivious to the noise he was making until Brewster turned around and fixed a steely glare at him. Rory slowed down, motioning for Brewster to wait for him. But the old man started hiking up the hill, running through the trees like a veteran soldier in pursuit of his prey. Rory kept up as best he could while marveling at the old man's agility.

Rory soon topped the rise, cautiously making his way through a small meadow of aspens. Ed was up ahead, climbing the next rise, traversing his way past golden mine tailings. He neared the old Luckless Lady mine, taking the path around the dilapidated shack, stirring up rock debris as he went. Brewster was further down the hill, closing the gap between them.

Ed suddenly stopped in front of a tunnel entrance and turned around. Rory sprawled on the ground, his nerves tingling with antic.i.p.ation and fear. He hoped Ed couldn't see him through the trees. The thought had no sooner split through his mind than he saw Brewster look around, as if he might try and run for the shelter of the shack. But it was too late. Ed rushed at Brewster, and was upon him in seconds.

Brewster swung his shotgun like it was a baseball bat, slamming the b.u.t.t end into Ed's chest. Ed staggered back, but did not fall. He grabbed the shotgun and pulled, causing Brewster to fall into him. Rory got up to move forward, at once wis.h.i.+ng he had a weapon of his own to shoot Ed, but also knowing that he didn't want to spill his blood. He had to get near enough to strangle Ed. That was the plan. Rory cursed under his breath, then darted forward, fearful of drawing attention to himself, but equally fearful of what Ed might do to Brewster.

"Oh no you don't," Brewster's scraggly voice carried through the hot air. He remained locked in battle with Ed. They staggered for a few feet, locked in a dangerous dance, creating a small landslide of pebbles and dirt. Brewster fell to his knees, shrieking curses at Ed. Rory faltered as the scream melded into one of intense pain when Ed reached out a hand and locked it around Brewster's neck.

That got Rory moving again. He emerged from the shelter of the trees when he heard Brewster yelling again, and he realized that the old man was bellowing at him. "Stay back! I got him! You take care of the others!" Rory hesitated.

Brewster wrenched Ed's hand free, and Rory heard him drawing in great gasps of air. But Ed and the force within him remained undaunted. He continued to struggle with Brewster, both staggering backwards into the mine, snarling like rabid dogs. Brewster took another step and fell with Ed on top of him. The darkness inside the mine sucked them away. Rory lost sight of them, but he could hear their fighting. Then the sound of an explosion ripped from inside the mine, terrifying in its hollow intensity.

Rory stole out of the trees and ran to the mine entrance. Brewster yelled once more. Then complete silence. Rory stood in the entrance, breathing hard. The smell of gunpowder a.s.saulted his nostrils. The shotgun went off, he thought. Were either of the men hit? He stared down the tunnel, his hands shaking violently. All he could discern was his ragged breathing. He wanted to shout to Brewster, but was afraid of calling attention to himself. He waited a few moments, staring into the darkness. Sweat trickled down his forehead and into his eyes. He wiped at it, clearing his vision.

As the silence stretched out, he slowly stepped into the mine. His eyesight adjusted to the dimness and he could see the jagged edges of the walls where a century ago someone had hewn away the hard rock. Cool, damp air wrapped itself around him. He paused, surveying the blackness that yawned before him, as quiet as limitless night. He took a few tentative steps, his shoes grating on the uneven tunnel floor. With each movement, he was expecting Ed to leap out and s.n.a.t.c.h him. He held up the garrote and took another few steps, then halted. Blood pounded in his ears. He looked around, but the darkness grew before him as the light from the entrance faded. He strained to hear them. Nothing.

He shuffled forward a little more, then looked down for a visual guidance for his feet. His body went cold. In front of him was a gaping hole, falling away into bleak emptiness. If he had ventured a few feet farther, he would've plunged into it.

He sank to his knees with his whole body quivering. He moved to the edge of the hole and stared down, but could see nothing. He tilted his head. The utter silence was terrifying. He still desperately wanted to call for Brewster but remained fearful that Ed might be lurking in the shadows.

He waited and listened, hoping to hear something from Brewster to indicate he was alive, if not unharmed. He strained fearfully for sounds from Ed, too. But none ever came. Rory finally scooted backwards a few feet and stood up. They must be at the bottom of the shaft, he thought. The mental picture made his stomach queasy. Another thought hit him, how courageous Brewster was to sacrifice himself so Rory and the others could live. Rory smiled sadly, took one final look down the tunnel, then backed carefully out of the mine.

The bright daylight caused him to squint. He wiped again at his face as he looked around, wary of the possibility of other Nephilim. He saw no one, and with barely a moment to grieve for Brewster, he hurried back down the mountainside, sliding down the mine tailings, sc.r.a.ping his hands and knees in his haste. As he ran, the sounds of gunfire cut through the trees, and he thought he heard Anna yelling, but he couldn't be sure.

Anna and Myrtle were shooting at the Nephilim. A very bad sign. "Please be okay," he found himself praying over and over again, stumbling through the brush as fast as he could run.

Nicholas had huddled behind Clinton's car since Ed's vile screaming had ripped through the town. That sound, so inhuman, so evil, rattled him to his core. It was the same aura that had permeated the air on the night that Ed had taken Mick. Nicholas used all his mental strength to focus on something else, to will himself not to give in to his fright.

"They don't know what to do." Clinton's voice cut through his terror-filled fog. Nicholas glanced up. Clinton was peeking over the back of the car. "They're staring at the bodies at the well, and " His voice broke as he ducked down. "They're looking this way." He bent down and peered around the car. "They're heading to the porch," he whispered hoa.r.s.ely. He turned to Nicholas. "You stay right here. If anything happens, you take the car and get Myrtle and Anna, and you drive like h.e.l.l away from here. You hear me?"

Nicholas nodded mutely. He wanted to shout "Don't leave me here alone!" but Clinton was already out in the road, shrieking like a crazed cowboy to draw attention to himself.

Nicholas stared up over the end of the car. Three of the Nephilim lumbered dangerously close to the general store porch. Myrtle and Anna edged away from the stacked chairs as the Nephilim kept on coming, lifeless, yet ominously real.

Clinton ran to the Jeep, stopping short when he realized that his shouting had worked. The Nephilim had turned their attention to him. The closest one sensed the danger coming toward him. Clinton raised his Glock and fired. The man dropped. After a second, a black spirit hissed from the body into the sky. By this time Clinton had turned to the others, but it was too late. A second Nephilim hurled himself upon Clinton, clutching at him with a meaty hand. Nicholas stared openmouthed when he saw who it was his father! Clinton struggled with Gino, their bodies intertwined. But Clinton was losing ground to the stronger, otherworldly power.

Nicholas didn't know what possessed his legs to move, but before his fear could take root and stop him, he grabbed the fire extinguisher and ran in a crouch into the road. He knew of the art of invisibility, had learned it trying to keep his father at bay, and he employed it now. The extinguisher seemed a paltry defense, but he instinctively trusted Old Man Brewster's plan. He fumbled quickly with the trigger, even as a snarling Nephilim scream cut through him. He froze. Another scream from Clinton jolted Nicholas. He ran around the back end of the Jeep and peeked around. While still trying to fight off Gino, Clinton clutched at a b.l.o.o.d.y gash in his side, his face contorted in pain and fury.

No! Nicholas thought, feeling a helpless rage course through him. One of the few people who had ever shown him true compa.s.sion was about to die. And even though he knew that some other force was in control, in Nicholas' eyes it was his father who was threatening his friend. Suddenly rage from all the years of abuse welled up in him. "No!" he screamed. He raised the extinguisher and stormed around the Jeep. He glimpsed Myrtle and Anna, their faces a picture of surprise and consternation at his actions. He ran right up to his father and Clinton. Clinton struggled against Gino's hands, trying vainly to stop them from closing around his neck. With no hesitation, Nicholas stuck the end of the extinguisher hose right into his father's face and squeezed the trigger. Gino had no time for reaction. The chemicals from the extinguisher exploded right into Gino's eyes and up his nose. He emitted a strangled scream and threw his hands at his burned skin. Nicholas caught Clinton's slumping body and dragged him the rest of the way to the porch. Then he heard: a single shot and screaming.

"You both could've been killed!" Myrtle shrieked, grabbing them up in an awkward hug. Anna had big tears streaming down her cheeks. Her right hand still held the .38 Special, pointed out into the road. Gino D'Angelo was sprawled out in the road, motionless. Nicholas could see a dark spot on his chest. "I had to shoot him," Anna shrieked. "He was coming after you."

And then the thing they feared happened. A specter black as a starless night materialized out of Gino's body. It hovered in the air like a putrid mist, seeming to stare at the group huddled on the porch. Then it shot swiftly skyward, a hot, seething ma.s.s that disappeared without a trace, leaving a tangible wake that crawled through their flesh.

"We can't let them get away like that," Myrtle shouted, visibly shaken. At the same time, Anna cried out as she finally took notice of Nicholas and Clinton.

"He's hurt bad," Nicholas said, collapsing beside Clinton's p.r.o.ne form.

"What do I do?" Anna yelled. "I can't stop them."

As if the horror of this wasn't enough, another scream stabbed into them. But this one came barreling down the mountainside like a rockslide.

"Stay here," Myrtle ordered Nicholas. She thrust his hands onto the wound in Clinton's side. "Press down to try and stop the bleeding." Then she was gone, running into the store. Nicholas tried not to notice the warm dark fluid that ran over his hands, tried not to think what that meant.

"They're leaving," Anna's awed voiced startled him. Nicholas looked up at her. She had her revolver raised and was pointing down the road. "They're leaving," she repeated.

Myrtle burst out of the store, carrying a stack of towels. She pressed a couple of them onto Clinton's wound and had Nicholas hold them there. They grew damp quickly.

"What's going on?" she hollered, running toward Anna.

Before Anna could answer, a rustling sound came from around the corner behind them. She swirled around, aiming the revolver in the direction of the latest danger.

"Please be okay," Rory whispered to himself again as he neared town. He'd made his way down the hillside, his eyes frantically scanning the landscape for trouble. He slipped up to the back of the general store and worked his way along the back wall. As he came to the corner, a cold scream shattered the air, cras.h.i.+ng down the hillside like rolling thunder. It continued for long seconds, so gruesome he expected the skies to tear in half. And it was evil. He rubbed at the goose b.u.mps that popped up on his arms. "Ed," he whispered when the cry ended.

He gritted his teeth. The gatherer was still alive. But what about Brewster? Rory didn't have time to think about it, for movement off in the direction of Back In Time Antiques took his attention. The Nephilim were coming between the buildings, disembodied people plodding with newfound purpose, heading up the mountainside in the direction of the scream.

Rory slipped around the corner before they could see him and made his way to the front of the general store. He leaped up onto the porch, coming face to face with the black barrel of a revolver.

"Don't shoot me!" He dropped the garrote and raised his hands defensively, looking into Anna's frightened eyes.

She dropped the revolver, hands shaking as she choked back sobs. "Rory!" She hugged him, flooding him with relief. "You're okay."

He wrapped his arms around her, aware of her trembling against him, aware of his deep relief that she was all right. But his reprieve was short-lived as he took in what was before him.

Clinton was sprawled on the porch, his long legs hanging down the front steps. His ashen face glistened with sweat as he attempted to smile. Nicholas sat near Clinton, pressing b.l.o.o.d.y towels to his side. Rory's look strayed to a trail of stained dirt from the middle of the road to the porch.

"What happened?"

"A Nephilim," Myrtle whispered. "Nicholas' father tore part of Clinton's side clean out."

"We've got to get him to a hospital before he bleeds to death," Anna urged.

Rory nodded. He looked into Clinton's mottled, wet face, and a flash of something there scared him. Clinton was a strong man, steady and methodical, unwavering in his need to get to the truth, whatever that might be. But Rory saw a new emotion etched on Clinton's features fear. As if Clinton knew the end was in sight, an end he didn't want any part of. Rory looked up into the road. The Nephilim were gone, called to the gatherer. It was a tiny shaft of hope in an otherwise hopeless situation.

Something strange pulled within him. For an instant, he wanted to give in to the Nephilim. To do so would be something wonderful, captivating, if he just let go and listened to their call. Then he wouldn't have to worry any more.

Myrtle watched a pall cross over Rory's face. It was there for just a moment, a foreign presence swirling in the deep eddies of his eyes. Then it disappeared, and he was back, staring at her with slight confusion. His broad shoulders stooped, and he reeked of weariness.

She waited only a moment before she jumped into action. She grabbed Anna. "Get Clinton's keys and I'll drive him to a hospital." Anna obediently went over to Clinton and fished around in his pocket.

Myrtle turned to Rory. "We'll take Clinton's car," she said. "It's the best of the lot." He stared at her. She put a hand to his face. "Brewster?" He averted his gaze and shook his head slowly. Myrtle fought back a growing sense of despair. "He was a good man," she said simply.

Anna returned with the keys and Rory went and got the car and parked it in front of the porch steps. Clinton grimaced as Rory and Anna helped him into the back of the car. Clinton's face was a deep gray, and his clothes were as wet as if he'd showered in them. Nicholas continued to press the cloth to Clinton's side. Clinton was losing blood quickly.

"Need to...get out." It took all Clinton's strength to get out the words. He clutched weakly at Rory's s.h.i.+rt. "Don't wait."

"Rory and I will take care of the bodies and then leave," Anna said, helping to position Clinton more comfortably.

"Hold this," Myrtle took Clinton's hand and made him press down on the wound. He scowled in pain.

Myrtle backed away. "Dear G.o.d, he's going to bleed to death," she uttered despairingly as she stood up. Anna waved Nicholas over. "You sit here in the back with him," Anna instructed. "Keep that cloth pressed over the wound. Press hard, okay?" Nicholas nodded mutely, crawled into the back seat, and sat down near Clinton's knees. He leaned forward, placed his hands over Clinton's and applied pressure on the wound.

"Will you be all right?" Anna asked. "Yeah," Nicholas whispered. She shut the door.

Myrtle prayed silently that the boy would stay with them mentally. Lord knows he's been through enough, she thought. She shaded her eyes as she went around to Rory. "It's going to be dark in a while." She could hear her voice cracking, could feel her strength waning with the setting sun. "How long will it take you and Anna to sink the bodies in the lake?"

"We'll hurry," he said, trying to ease the concern that showed in her eyes.

"What if they come back?" she asked.

"Come on, get going." Rory herded Myrtle over to the driver's side of the car. He held the door open for her, waiting as she got in and started the car. "You take care of Clinton. Leave the rest to me."

"And me," Anna said, coming up to them. "I'm staying to help you finish this." Rory opened his mouth but her firm stance and grim, determined look indicated that argument would be futile. "You can't do this alone."

Rory shrugged and turned to Myrtle. "You drive like it's the Indy 500, you hear me?" He shut the door and stepped back.

"What about Boo?" Myrtle suddenly cried. "He's still in the store!"

"I'll get him." Rory ran into the store and emerged moments later, carrying Boo. He hurried over to the car and put the dog in the front pa.s.senger seat.

"Thank you, Rory," Myrtle forced a smile. "Hurry up," she said. "I don't like the idea of you and Anna up here alone." She held to the steering wheel tightly so he wouldn't see her trembling hands. "Hurry," she repeated, then pressed the gas pedal and the car leapt forward, kicking up dust. Clinton groaned in the back seat. She looked frantically in the rearview mirror, locking eyes with Nicholas.

"He's okay," Nicholas said, but his frown told a different story.

Myrtle sped over the bridge, leaving Taylor Crossing behind. Fear kept Myrtle's foot on the gas pedal, all thoughts of caution gone. The car bounded over the rickety bridge, bouncing on the uneven boards. The car rocked and Clinton emitted another pain-laced moan. Myrtle clutched the wheel, her hands white. Then, what all the townspeople had feared might happen, happened.

First came a single pop of dry wood snapping in two. A horrible crunching sound rose over the back end of the car, a breaking, sc.r.a.ping sound that shook the whole car. Even as she looked quickly over her shoulder, Myrtle knew. The bridge was going.

"Hang on," she yelled. She stamped her foot on the gas and the car flew with tires squealing. In seconds they were across the bridge.

"What happened?" Nicholas hollered from the back seat.

"The bridge collapsed," she yelled in terror.

Myrtle glanced in the rearview mirror, catching a brief glimpse of the bridge. She could see it leaning precariously to the side, the far end completely separated from the rock. There was no way a person could even attempt to walk across it now, let alone drive a car. Even as she thought this, her car rounded the bend and the bridge disappeared from sight.

"Oh my Lord." She threw a hand to her mouth and fought the tears that were already cascading down her cheeks.

"Aren't you stopping?" Nicholas hollered from the back seat.

"Rory and Anna will have to make do," she said through tears. "We've got to get Clinton to the hospital." For the first time in her advancing years, she noticed an aching in her limbs, letting her know she was too old for this.

"He doesn't look good," an alarmed whisper came from the back seat.

"I know," Myrtle answered, not needing to see Clinton to really know. His raspy breathing said it all. She pressed harder on the gas pedal, and as the car careened down the road, a new ache, filled with the worst kind of dread, gripped her whole body.

CHAPTER 64.